


Ah, Ça Ira

by WildandWhirling



Series: Between the Waves [2]
Category: 1789 - バスティーユの恋人たち | 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille - Takarazuka Revue
Genre: Blatantly abusing the original lyrics for my purposes, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, French Revolution, It'd be a shame if something were to happen to them, Light Angst, M/M, Oh look at this happy loving couple, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildandWhirling/pseuds/WildandWhirling
Summary: On the night of July 13, 1789, Ronan and Lazare have a moment in their apartment room as fate gradually closes in on them.





	Ah, Ça Ira

“Come to bed.”

Lazare felt Ronan's arms cross over his chest from where Lazare was sitting at his desk, attempting to wrangle his coat off of him. They’d been the first words Ronan had spoken to him since the incident at Place Louis XV, and his voice was drowsy, heavy. These revolutionaries were working him hard, Peyrol thought. It was…tempting, he thought, to spend the night with Ronan and forget everything, forget the Revolution, forget the crowds on the street, forget the mob’s madness and steal Ronan away from them, even if it was for an hour or two. Just an hour or two where Ronan was his.

He looked down at the paper in his hand, the glow of the candle at his desk casting a dark orange hue on it. After the Incident, he had seen fit to write a formal report detailing his actions, his troops’ involvement, the necessity of both. The King would no doubt be displeased, Necker would shake his head sanctimoniously, but he could hope for the Comte d’Artois’ support, at least. Provided he was still convenient. 

He needed to finish it, it was absolutely vital to give the Crown a detailed report of it, for them to understand the danger of the mob. To understand **—** He straightened his coat from the disarray Ronan had put it in, the silver threads glinting in the candelight. 

“A moment, Ronan,” he murmured, less authoritatively than he would have liked, his quill poised above the paper as he attempted to come up with words that refused to be written. As soon as Ronan backed away from him, he felt the night’s chill begin to set over him, but he still remained resolute. He heard the sound of Ronan’s footsteps going over to the bed, which descended into a rare silence from him. 

After that, the room was quiet, save for the scratching of Peyrol’s pen against the paper and the rain falling outside, hitting against the roof and window in a deluge.

Peyrol thought Ronan had drifted off to sleep until he spoke again. “Hey, Peyrol?” 

“Yes?” Lazare didn’t take his eyes from the paper. 

“When this is all over, I won’t make you worry anymore. We’ll be free.” 

Ever the idealist, he thought, always hoping for a better world. Always thinking that he could change it on his own, never taking into account the real world they lived in, the world where their lives would never be fully their own. He had given his life to something more than himself, and Ronan had dedicated his to a life of chaos and rebellion. It would never be over for him. There would always be inequality in the world and Ronan would always be there to throw himself into fighting it. 

It was an hour or two later that he finally finished it, after several rewrites that never seemed good enough, thorough enough. Ronan was already asleep, his body splayed across the bed as Lazare attempted to find a way around him. For all that Ronan liked to talk about Marat sleeping like the dead, he was little better, with no force on Earth being able to awaken him until dawn broke. 

Still, some part of him recognized Lazare’s presence on the bed. 

“ _Mon amour_ ,” he moaned, grabbing onto Lazare’s waist and then steadying. Lazare gently pried Ronan’s fingers off of him so that he could arrange himself into a better position and then allowed himself to lightly run his fingers through Ronan's short brown hair, a smile almost touching his face as he briefly rested his other hand on Ronan’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. In his mind, Ronan’s words turned over and over, tempting, haunting. 

_We’ll be free._

Outside, the rain had lessened to a slow drizzle.

Tomorrow, he would make it up to him. 

Tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Thomas Jefferson for his detailed, daily notes on the weather. This is most definitely not what he'd initially intended them for but, hey, he was a douchecanoe so I don't particularly care. 
> 
> Also special thanks to Avery, Alex, and Jules for dealing with me on the Discord while I was maniacally writing this damn thing down. You are not douchecanoes and I am very grateful for you putting up with my angsty, terrible ideas for these poor characters (and occasionally contributing your own).


End file.
